


Rewrite the stars

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Class Differences, Forbidden Love, Happy Ending, I may add more tags as we go, M/M, Mycroft and Greg are 14 when it starts, Pining, Some angst, some johnlock (eventually)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-05 08:05:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13383651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Stolen moments is all they could ever have and while Greg knows it, he can’t help wishing…But it’s useless to wish for what can't be.





	1. Year 1 - What if we rewrite the stars?

**Author's Note:**

> So… this. As I’ve said several times before, I have no self control whatsoever, so of course I went and started yet another fic. On the bright side, I’m doing well with the WIPs I'd planned to finish before January ends so… Well.  
> Also, I’ve listened to the Greatest Showman’s soundtrack way too many times and this song was just begging me to write a fic inspired on it and well… here we are. I should probably say the time setting is similar to the movie's, but don’t expect much historical accuracy from me :P  
> Anyway, this probably won’t be terribly long or at least I hope so but I guess we’ll see ;)  
> Enjoy!

**Year 1**

 

“I’m terribly sorry,” the older boy says, holding the younger one by the shoulder, stopping him from wandering around as he evidently wants to. “My brother wanted to see the elephants up close and I tried to stop him, but…” he gestures vaguely, an exasperated but fond look on his face and Greg can’t help smiling sympathetically at him.

“It’s fine, really,” he says with a shrug. “It’s not particularly wise to approach any of the animals out of the blue, though,” he feels forced to point out and the other boy chuckles softly.

“Yes, I figured,” he murmurs, glaring at his brother.

“Would you care for a tour?” Greg offers, because he can feel the younger boy’s curiosity and he figures there’s nothing wrong with indulging in it. The older one bites his lip, evidently torn, but before he can even open his mouth to speak, his brother has cheerfully yelled _yes!_ and so he just sighs resignedly.

Greg chuckles, amused. Being an only child himself, he doesn’t have any experience with younger siblings, but it’s clear this one has his older brother effectively wrapped around his little finger.

“Fine,” the older murmurs, “lead the way.”

Greg offers him a bright smile and he could swear the boy blushes furiously, but that might just be a trick of the light, so he tells himself not to get his hopes up. Besides, it’s not like anything could come of it, no matter how attractive he finds him.

“I’m Greg, by the way,” he introduces himself, offering his hand to shake. The older boy shakes it while his brother rolls his eyes dramatically, clearly eager to be done with the pleasantries and wanting to start the tour.

“I’m Mycroft,” he introduces himself. “And this little meanance, is my brother Sherlock.”

“Pleasure to meet you both,” Greg says, “shall we?”

“Finally!” Sherlock exclaims petulantly, escaping his brother’s grasp and Greg and Mycroft share an amused look before following the boy who has evidently forgotten Greg is the one supposed to be showing them around.

Little meanance, indeed.

* * *

 

“So, did you like the show?” Greg asks while Sherlock is too busy staring open mouthed at the caged tigers to pay them any mind. Mycroft spares a quick look in his brother’s direction before turning his full attention to Greg, a small smile on his lips.

“Quite,” he says. “It was… very exciting.”

“Very different from what you’re used to, I bet,” Greg says teasingly and Mycroft arches an eyebrow questioningly. “I assume the opera and the theater are more your kind of entertainment?”

“Ah,” Mycroft murmurs, pulling at his shirt nervously. “You can tell?”

Greg snorts. He’ll give kudos to both boys for trying to disguise themselves, but there are things one can not simply hide: manners and money being two of them. (Although, to be fair, in Greg’s experience people with money don’t necessarily have good manners with people they deem _below_ them.)

“Sherlock saw when the circus arrived in town,” Mycroft says quietly, toying with the hem of his jacket. “He wanted to come, but Mummy and Dad would rather die before being seen anywhere even near the circus tent so…” He shrugs, not meeting Greg’s eyes. “But he wanted to come and I…”

“You don’t know how to say no to your little brother, huh?”

Mycroft smile is full of sadness and Greg frowns, unsure what to make of that. “No. Others deny him far too many things for me to do it too.” Greg’s heart squeezes painfully inside his chest and he reaches for the other boy’s hand without thinking about it.

Mycroft startles, eyes going very wide, but he doesn’t pull away. Greg bites his lip, unsure. He’s just 14, so he doesn’t know much about romance and what not, but he knows he finds the other boy terribly appealing and he also knows it’ll come to nothing.

And yet, he just wants to make him stop looking so sad.

They stand like that for a while, neither saying a single thing, not daring to move, barely breathing. The air feels charged with promise between them, although Greg isn’t sure if it’s all in his head.

“We’ll be here all week,” Greg murmurs finally, still not letting go of the other boy’s hand. “Perhaps… perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’ll save you the best seats in the house.”

Mycroft observes him for a few seconds, as if measuring his words and Greg holds his stare steadily, smiling shily. But before Mycroft can utter a word, Sherlock has come back to their side and is staring at their joined hands curiously.

“Ugh,” he young boy says when he notices the older ones are watching him. “Must you be this disgusting in front of me?”

Greg laughs good naturedly and Mycroft finally pulls his hand away, his ears a charming red color. Greg smiles fondly at him, but that just makes Mycroft blush some more, which makes his heart swell.

This can’t possibly go anywhere, but there’s no harm in daydreaming, is there?

* * *

 

He asks Mrs. Hudson to save two tickets in the middle of front row for the next show and the woman agrees with a fond shake of her head, immediately followed by a tale of her youth. Every member of the circus can probably tell you a story of a doomed love with someone who lived in one of the towns they have visited, but Greg doesn’t think he wants to hear them: he knows nothing will come of it, but for now-

For now he can pretend it will.

His father smiles at him when one of the other members of the circus tease him about his little crush, ruffling his hair affectionately and offering him to let him lead during the first act. Greg is beyond thrilled at the offer; as all the younger generation of the circus, he’s learning his father’s trade but just as all the younger ones he gets to participate on the show hardly ever. It’s amazing, really and getting to impress Mycroft is just added bonus.

 

That night, when his eyes meet Mycroft’s among the crowd, he smiles brightly and promptly forgets what he’s supposed to be doing, so his father has to come to his rescue. Greg blushes furiously, (so much for impressing Mycroft) and endures his companions teasing for the rest of show.

But when the other boy meets him outside the tent once more and tells him he did really well, he can’t help thinking it was all worth it.

* * *

 

The end of the week comes far too soon.

Mycroft and Sherlock had come to the show every night and they had stayed for a little while afterwards, Sherlock roaming around the tent, Mycroft and Greg talking quietly. But tonight is probably the last time they’ll see one another and the knowledge weighs heavily on both of them.

“I guess this is goodbye, then,” Mycroft murmurs reluctantly, after a quick glance at his pocket watch. “I… I really enjoyed all this.” He bites his lip shily, staring at Greg from under his lashes and Greg’s heart skips a beat.

“So did I,” he murmurs softly. “I… I wish-”

Mycroft places a hand over his lips, shaking his head sadly. Greg swallows back his words and nods tightly. They stare at one another for what feels like a lifetime and finally Mycroft stands up.

“Goodbye then,” Greg says, offering his hand to shake and when Mycroft grabs it, he pulls him close and presses a quick chaste kiss against his lips on a whim. “Sorry about that,” he murmurs, blushing bright red while Mycroft blinks owlishly.

Before Greg can apologize again, Mycroft leans in for another quick kiss and it’s Greg’s turn to blink owlishly. “So you’ll remember me,” he says, smiling coyly before turning around and calling for his brother, who doesn’t protest quite as much and Greg watches them walk out of the tent (a probably his life).

Well. He knew it couldn’t possibly last.

Then why does it hurt so much?


	2. Year 4 - But fate is pulling you miles away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m like a dog with a bone when inspiration strikes. Also, I have been listening to the song on repeat, so that probably helps too ;)  
> So, here’s chapter 2. Enjoy!

**Year 4**

“Eager to get to London, are we?” his father asks teasingly and Greg blushes bright red but nods eagerly anyway. They could never present their show in the actual city, but the outskirts of the city work just as well and the crowd that comes every year to watch it keeps on growing, so it’s a good place for business.

Of course, that’s not the reason Greg is excited to get there.

His father smiles fondly, but there’s a sad edge to it. “When I was your age, going to your mom’s town was the highlight of my year,” he recalls longingly. “And when she finally agreed to come with me… it was the happiest day of my life. No offense, son.”

Greg laughs, pushing his father’s shoulder playfully and the older man smiles, ruffling his hair affectionately before moving along to make sure everything is ready for their arrival into London. Greg watches him go and once he has made sure his father is gone, he lets out a long sad sigh.

His father is one of the few members of the circus who can tell you a love tale with someone outside the circus that didn’t end up in tragedy, but Greg knows it could never be his case. His mother, may she rest in peace, was a vivacious woman, full of energy and with an adventurous soul, so of course she ran away with the circus ringleader as soon as she was old enough. But she was also the daughter of a simple seamaster, with little means and no real future if she stayed in her small town. 

Mycroft, on the other hand, is the oldest son of a rich aristocrat, with a bright future full of promising prospects in front of him. Even if he returned Greg’s affection, Greg could never ask him to leave all that behind.

It’s not easy, living on the road and god knows the money is tight more often than not. Greg could never ask him to trade his comfortable life for such an uncertain one and even if he would, he honestly doubts Mycroft ever would.

So no, better not to think about that.

Besides, it’s not like they have a real relationship. He hadn’t honestly thought he would see the other boy after their first meeting, so he had been pleasantly surprised when he found out Mycroft’s family had moved to London and so they could at least meet yearly, every time Greg came into the city. For a week, sometimes a bit longer if they were lucky, they saw each other every night after the show, talking and joking while Sherlock continued to wander around, occasionally talking to some of the other younger members of the circus.

However, they had never talked again of the kiss they shared as a goodbye. It hangs unspoken over them, filling the air with tension whenever there’s a lull in the conversation and while Greg hopes desperately for a repeat, he knows better than to ask for it.

He closes his eyes, his longing threatening to drown him and he sighs, reminding himself why he shouldn’t entertain these thoughts: they do nothing but hurt him.

When he opens his eyes once again, he can see the city fast approaching and a small smile comes unbidden to his lips, as his heart picks up speed: just one more day before he’s reunited with his (impossible) love.

God, what a fool he is.

* * *

 

Since he’s 18 now, his father lets him lead through the second act more often than not. It makes Greg happy to perform on regular circumstances, it makes him beyond thrilled to get to do it infront of his beloved. He catches sight of Mycroft from the minute he sits down and he never loses sight of him, no matter what else he’s supposed to be doing. His performance might suffer a little, or so his companions tell him, but he very much doubts it’s really noticeable.

He can barely contain his excitement by the time the show is over and all the crowd has left, but he forces himself to wait for a couple of minutes before meeting Mycroft at their usual place, not wanting to look overly eager. Not that it matters, he doesn’t think, because Mycroft is quite observant and he can probably tell Greg is head over heels for him, but he has politely declined from mentioning it. Besides, Greg thinks the other man isn’t indifferent to his affection, but he has enough good sense to not do or say anything about it.

The meeting goes as usual, Greg sitting perhaps a tad closer than strictly necessary to Mycroft, but his companion doesn’t seem to mind at all, letting their knees touch every time he moves.

Yes, Greg thinks he’s definitely not alone in this impossible infatuation of his.

A delighted laugh makes them look away from each other’s eyes and Greg nearly has a heart attack at what he sees. Mycroft has a similar reaction and before Greg can think of something to say, he has already stood up and is yelling at Sherlock to stop being ridiculous, but of course the boy ignores him merrily, happy as he is holding onto the trapeze for dear life.

This could go very wrong very quickly.

“John!” Greg yells, when he catches sight of Sherlock’s partner-in-crime. The teen rolls his eyes dramatically, but brings Sherlock back to the platform, earning himself a load protest from the younger boy. 

“Good god,” Greg murmurs, running his fingers through his hair. “That boy will be the death of me.”

John’s family joined the circus just 3 years ago and while Greg is very fond of the boy, he has a particular tendency to attract all sort of trouble. After meeting Sherlock 2 years ago and having hit it off amazingly with the younger boy, Greg had known that that was likely to mean a lot of trouble for him.

“I was fine!” Sherlock is yelling, still standing on top of the platform, next to John. “I’ve been practicing!”

Greg isn’t sure he wants to contemplate how he managed that and judging by Mycroft’s expression, he really doesn’t want to know. 

“I should have known they were up to something,” Mycroft comments, sitting down once more, watching the boys descend from the platform with matching displeased expressions. “They had been quiet for far too long.”

Greg chuckles, watching the boys too. “Yeah, me too. I just… I lost track of the time a little.”

Mycroft hums, turning his attention back to him and Greg offers him a bright smile. From the corner of his eye he can see John and Sherlock making their way backstage and he sends a silent prayer heavenwards, hoping they won’t cause any trouble for once.

“I must say the show keeps getting better every year,” Mycroft says and Greg preans like a peacock, which makes Mycroft smile. “I have to say I enjoyed the second act much better, but maybe I’m a little biased.”

Greg grins, sliding closer to Mycroft, their knees touching once more. “And why would that be?” he asks, perhaps a tad flirtatiously, licking his lips and he doesn’t miss the way Mycroft’s eyes track the movement.

“I might be…  _ fond  _ of the ringleader,” the other replies, his voice a barely audible murmur but Greg hears him just fine, their faces now very close. “Besides, I might be too busy ogling said ringleader to pay much attention to anything else.”

Greg would laugh, except their noses are now almost touching and so he finds himself a little out of breath. He had thought they had a mutual unspoken agreement of not speaking of this…  _ thing _ between them, but it seems he might have been mistaken. “I…”

“Do you remember the first time we said goodbye to each other?” Mycroft murmurs, still too close and Greg has trouble breathing, let alone thinking. “I think about it constantly.”

“Me too,” Greg confesses, his eyes fixed on Mycroft’s lips. 

“Good,” Mycroft says, the side of his body now practically flushed against Greg’s. “That was the whole point, after all.”

Greg blinks, a little confused, but before he can say anything Mycroft has pressed his lips to his and he lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. The kiss is nice, if perhaps a tad inexperienced, but it’s not like Greg has tons of experience either. He kisses the other man back slowly, carefully, unsure whether or not this is a dream or if it’s really happening.

“Another little something to remember you by,” Mycroft murmurs when he finally pulls away, his cheeks a lovely shade of red and Greg is hard pressed not to kiss him again. He doesn’t want to presume anything though; he’s not quite sure what this means considering he knows there’s no future for them.

“You’re coming back tomorrow night, right?” he finds himself asking, because that’s the only thing he can think of asking and Mycroft smiles, somewhat sadly, his hand coming to cup Greg’s face gently.

“Yes,” he agrees quietly. “But I don’t think I can do that again.”

“Why?” Greg asks breathlessly, although he does know the answer.

“Because I don’t think I could bear to let you go if I did.”

And just what can Greg say to that?

* * *

 

Leaving London this time is sheer torture.

Greg remains staring outside the train’s window until the city has become a blur in the distance, his heart clenching painfully inside his chest.

What is he doing? He shouldn’t- he can’t- he knew-

“Oh, my boy,” his father murmurs, coming to sit next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. “I had hoped you’d be as lucky as myself.” 

Greg lets out a bitter laugh, hiding his face in his father’s chest, embarrassed of his tears. It’s ridiculous, he knows, because he had always thought he knew better than to wish for the impossible, but now-

Now he doesn’t know what to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I’m really enjoying this. It’s not the type of angst I would normally write, I don’t think, but I’m really enjoying it :P  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	3. Year 7 - How can you say you'll be mine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! What can I say? I’m inspired :P  
> Enjoy!

**Year 7**

 

“I’m fairly certain you shouldn’t be drinking this much,” Sally says, concern colouring her tone and Greg scoffs, downing his beer and asking for another one.

“Greg, please,” Molly says from his other side, taking his new beer away from him and so he glares darkly at her. “It’s quite enough. Tomorrow is the last show and we need to…”

Greg huffs, recovering his beer and glaring sulkily at nothing in particular. His companions share a look over his head and finally seem to decide there’s nothing they can do for him. “Alright,” Molly whispers, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “Just… be safe. Please.”

Greg nods tightly and the girl sighs, but turns to leave. Sally glares at him for another beat before picking up her coat, getting ready to follow Molly outside.

“Try not to do anything stupid,” she says, squeezing his shoulder too and Greg smiles ruefully, watching them go with a melancholic smile on his lips before turning to stare at the front of the bar once more, glad to get the chance to finally sulk in peace.

He sighs, burying his face in his arms, suddenly regretting having chased his companions away. Being alone won’t do him any favours but he supposes it’s too late for regrets.

It’s been a long night and he really should just go back to the tent and try to get some sleep, but he honestly doubts he’ll manage to get a wink of sleep. His head is buzzing with too many thoughts, his skin feels a little bit too tight and what he wants, what he wants more than keep on breathing, is the chance to talk to Mycroft for a little while. What’s the point of coming to London if he doesn’t get to see his beloved, after all?

But of course, that’s not possible. And after what he saw earlier on the night… well, that’s probably a very bad idea.

It seems that, no matter how many times he tells himself there’s no future for their love, he still keeps on hoping.

After all, hope dies last.

 

* * *

 

When Greg had noticed the empty seat next to Sherlock, his heart had sunk to his feet. After the show, the teen had informed him his brother had some  _ unavoidable previous commitment _ , but that he’d be there the following night. Greg had tried not to sulk too much after hearing the news, but he was far from his usual cheerful self and so when Molly and Sally had suggested going out for a few drinks, he had decided to come along.

A night in town was a rare threat for the circus members, so quite a few of the guys had ended up joining them and Greg had been having a good time, although there’s no denying he’d have changed it all for a quiet night in with Mycroft.

And then, when they were leaving the bar, he had caught sight of a couple exiting the fancy restaurant just across the street and Greg had felt as if someone had gutted him.

_ An unavoidable previous commitment,  _ indeed.

There was a part of him (the rational side of him) that had always assumed sooner or later Mycroft would get himself a perfectly nice, respectable wife and so he had made his peace with the knowledge. Except apparently he hadn’t, and now he doesn’t know what to do.

He knows he has no claim over the other man: all they share is the memory of a couple of kisses and they had made no promises, so really, there’s no reason for him to feel this betrayed. There are too many things that would make a relationship between them impossible and yet, he had thought-

Well. He doesn’t know what he had thought.

 

* * *

 

The day drags on and Greg is itching to just pack things up and leave. By the time the show starts he has worked himself into a terribly bad mood but he tries not to let it show. He can tell his performance lacks any real passion, but there’s nothing he can do about it and he honestly doubts most of the crowd can tell anyway.

Judging by Mycroft’s frown, he isn’t fooling him, but he avoids the other man’s eyes as much as humanly possible; an amazing feat if one considers that normally his eyes stay glued to him during the show.

When the show ends, Greg scurries off to what passes as his dressing room. He starts packing right away, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut, telling himself it’s better like this. He doesn’t want to talk to Mycroft, not right now, because he’s not sure what he’ll say, although he’s fairly certain that he’ll come to regret it later.

“And here he is,” John announces, opening the curtain and Greg turns to glare at the little traitor. The teen smirks at him before grabbing Sherlock by the wrist and pulling him away, leaving him and Mycroft alone.

They stare at each other for a beat and then Greg turns his attention back to packing, hoping the other man will take the hint and leave him alone.

No such luck, apparently. “You didn’t meet me at our usual place.”

“I’m busy,” Greg replies harshly, throwing a bunch of stuff into one of the chests, not bothering to sort things apart. “This was the last show, so we need to pack.”

“That never stopped you from meeting me before,” Mycroft accuses, sounding honestly pained and Greg huffs, annoyed at the stab of guilt he suddenly feels.

“My father was still alive,” Greg argues, still avoiding his companion’s eyes.

“Ah,” Mycroft murmurs softly. “My condolences.”

Greg shrugs. His father had gotten badly sick after their last trip to London and had died shortly after, so the wound has mostly healed by now. Still, he supposes it’s a convenient excuse.

“You’re angry at me,” Mycroft states after a beat and Greg groans, running his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Why can’t he simply let him be? Can’t he see he’s in no mood to talk?

“I saw you last night,” he says, his back turned to his companion, tension filling his every pore. He closes his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired.

“Ah,” Mycroft murmurs once again and then they fall into a tense silence. Greg sighs, frustrated with himself. He expected something else, not just quiet acknowledgement and now he doesn’t know what to do or say.

“I turned 21 last month,” Mycroft says after a long pause. “A man of my position should at the very least have a fiancée by this point.” He approaches Greg slowly, almost hesitantly and places a hand on his shoulder gingerly.

“I know,” Greg murmurs, because he does. Still-

“Anthea is… she’s an agreeable woman,” Mycroft tells him. “I could do far worse.”

Greg laughs bitterly, because what else can he do? He pulls away, finally turning around to face his interlocutor. “I suppose,” he agrees, expression infinitely sad. “I… my best wishes to you and your fiancée.”

Mycroft observes him for a beat before stepping closer once more and Greg gulps audibly. “Your memory is never far away from my thoughts,” he says softly, the hand previously resting on Greg’s shoulder now cupping his jaw. “But I can’t.”

“I know,” Greg says, because, again, he does know. “And now, if you excuse me, I’ve got much to pack.”

Mycroft hesitates for a beat but finally steps back, his hand falling to his side. They stare at each other for what feels like a lifetime and then he nods, seemingly having come to a decision. “Goodbye then,” he says.

Greg nods tightly, squashing the urge to ask for one last memory to hold on. He turns around once again and goes back to carefully folding his clothes and packing them, his heart squeezing painfully inside his chest as he listens to Mycroft’s retreating footsteps.

_ You always knew this would happen,  _ he reminds himself to stop himself from running after the other man and begging for him to reconsider.  _ Let him go. _

And so he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone.  
> I swear there’ll be a happy ending. Just hang in there ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	4. Year 9 - And I'm not the one you were meant to find

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s yet another chapter! Boy, I’m on fire!   
> I hope you’ll enjoy it ;)

**Year 9**

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

John has the gall to grin at that and Greg glares, crossing his arms over his chest and trying his best to look stern. “John, it’s sheer madness! You’re asking for all kind of trouble and I-”

But John is of course no longer listening, since Sherlock has just walked into the backstage and so his whole focus is on the younger teen.

Greg sighs dramatically as he watches both teens embrace and looks away pointedly when they kiss. His heart constricts inside his chest and he tells himself being jealous is completely ridiculous and beneath him. If both teens are happy, it’s petty of him to hold it against them; besides, the relationship is doomed anyway and so Greg should let them enjoy what little time they have left.

He sighs, sparing one last look at the couple who is now hurrying… somewhere he probably doesn’t want to know, and he steps into the ring, where Mycroft is waiting for him.

“I must admit I didn’t see that coming,” Mycroft comments, smiling ruefully. “I mean, of course I had seen the letters, but considering Sherlock couldn’t exactly write back…” he waves a hand vaguely, shrugging. 

“Love always finds a way,” Greg replies and regrets it a second later. Mycroft looks at him through narrowed eyes and he shrugs helplessly. There are too many things hanging unspoken between them and they’re doing their best ignore them, but -

“So, how you’ve been?” he asks, desperate to change the subject but cringing at how awkward he sounds. Conversation always flowed easily between them, but before this visit, they hadn’t seen each other since that fatidic night 2 years ago and so for the last few days there’s been a certain uncomfortable tension in the air that makes silence unbearable.

“Well enough,” Mycroft replies simply. “I’ve read on the papers about your travels aboard; you seem to be doing more than well yourself.”

Greg shrugs casually, but he’s incredibly proud of that. The circus is indeed doing well, better than ever before and he’s… content. Not happy, he doesn’t think, because there are other things in life far more important (more fulfilling) than money or fame but he’s doing well enough.

“I… I also read some interesting news concerning you,” Greg comments in what he hopes is an off handed way, but judging by Mycroft’s expresion, he missed the mark. “Sorry about that.”

Mycroft’s lips curve upwards very briefly. “Don’t be. Anthea assures me she’s very happy in her runway life.” He shrugs, expression a tad wistful. “As you said, love always finds a way and I was happy to help as much as I could.”

“Ah,” Greg murmurs, nodding. “I thought you might have been somewhat involved in her successful escapade, you old romantic.”

Mycroft chuckles, but there’s no real humor in it. “It seemed… there was no point in making both of us miserable. Besides, Anthea’s…  _ betrayal  _ has given me the perfect excuse to remain single for the foreseeable future.”

Greg’s heart skips a beat, but he doesn’t dare to react outwardly, reminding himself not to give into foolishness once again. And yet-

“I missed you,” he confesses softly and promptly regrets it. He clenches his fists, annoyed with himself for his weakness: he spent 3 years doing his best to forget, doing everything he could to try to erase the memory of this man and yet-

When he had come out on the ring and had seen Mycroft sitting next to his brother once again, he had known himself doomed. Nothing has changed, the relationship is still not really going anywhere and yet, after seeing Mycroft again, he has allowed himself to hope for what he rationally knows can’t be.

“So did I,” Mycroft says, taking a step closer and Greg bites his lip, uncertain. The future is bleak, there’s no doubt about it, but for a moment maybe they could pretend- “Everytime Sherlock told me the circus was in town… it took every bit of my self control so stop myself from coming looking for you.” He takes another step, now definitely in Greg’s personal space. “I couldn’t do that to you, though.”

Greg smiles ruefully. “I kept wishing you’d show up. Even if we didn’t speak to each other, I just wanted… I wanted to see you. These past two years have been… tortuous.”

Mycroft nods, resting one hand on his shoulder, the other cupping Greg’s jaw. “Indeed,” he whispers, his lips hovering over Greg’s and he lets out a sigh, “may I?”

“Yes,” Greg replies breathlessly, his knees going weak and so he places his hands on Mycroft’s waist to steady himself or at least that’s what he tells himself.

The kiss is nothing like the previous ones, but it leaves Greg feeling as giddy as the others. He smiles brightly at his companion, who smiles back at him before pressing yet another kiss to his lips, short and chaste, but just as sweet.

“I told you before that if I did that again, I couldn’t bear to let you go.”

“Then don’t,” Greg answers before he can think better of it. Mycroft caresses his cheek affectionately, holding his stare, eyes infinitely sad and Greg has to pull away so he can get his emotions back under control.

God, why does he keep doing this to himself?

“I’m so sorry,” Mycroft whispers, taking a step back and smoothing down his now slightly skewed waistcoat. “I know I… we don’t… I know I’m being terribly selfish, but I can’t… I can’t…”

“I understand,” Greg says, tone flat even if his heart is breaking into a million pieces. “Trust me, I really do.”

Mycroft smiles sadly, shaking his head. “I’m still sorry,” he says.

Greg nods tightly. “So I am.”

And he suspects that by the time all is said and done, he’ll be even more sorry.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t forget to write,” Sherlock says.

“I won’t,” John promises.

Greg could really do without their dramatic goodbyes. Mycroft is staring at his brother wistfully and Greg sighs, some part of him ridiculously envious of the open displays of affection, not to mention the traded promises. After his and Mycroft’s kiss they both went back to pretending there’s nothing bigger going on between them, but while one might try to hide the truth, it can not be changed.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispers.

“I love you too.” And that does it for Greg, who turns around sharply and leaves the teens to their…  _ whatever.  _ His skin feels a bit too tight and he’s torn between yelling and crying and since neither is really an option, he figures the best he can do is step away.

He risks one last glance back though and promptly regrets it. Mycroft is staring at him, watching him go with an open look of longing, but when their eyes meet the other man simply looks away, expression perfectly blank once more and so Greg can’t help wondering if he just imagined it.

He doesn’t know what’s real and what isn’t anymore.

 

* * *

 

“You do realize this is going nowhere, right?” Greg feels obliged to ask later, once they’re back on the road, because John is family, in a way, and he does know just how awful this impossible-love-thing is.

John smirks at him. “You’re just jealous.”

Well, yes, he sort of is, but that’s not really the issue here. “John, he’s an aristocrat's son.”

John shrugs casually, as if that didn’t matter one bit. “There’s no such thing as impossible loves, Greg. There are just people too scared to go after they want.”

No, that’s not really how it works, Greg doesn’t think, but he doesn’t argue.

He’s not sure what he believes anymore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> There’s a happy ending coming, I swear! Don’t let Greg’s pessimism get to you ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	5. Year 11 - No one can say what we get to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! Just one more to go (or maybe two, depending on how it goes)  
> Enjoy!

**Year 11**

“You’re really going to be the death of me,” Greg murmurs morosely, but he can’t bring himself to even try to glare at the couple of teens standing in front of him. They’re holding hands, matching determined looks on their faces and Greg knows there’s no changing their mind.

“Your brother is going to kill me,” he tells Sherlock and the teen scoffs, but doesn’t comment. “I think I know the answer already, but I feel obliged to ask: have you thought this through? Living on the road… it’s not easy Sherlock. Or comfortable. And it can be pretty demanding at times and uncertain and nothing at all like your previous life.”

Sherlock shrugs, squeezing John’s hand and sharing an adoring look with him. “None of that matters to me. Not as long as we’re together.”

John grins and pulls Sherlock into a kiss while Greg rolls his eyes fondly at them. He suspects he’s going to regret letting Sherlock come along, but he’s technically an adult and so there’s very little Greg could do to stop him (besides, he does know how…  _ headstrong,  _ let’s say, he is).

Something that feels an awful lot like envy twists his gut, but he dismisses the feeling quickly enough. He can’t begrudge the boys their happiness and if Sherlock has decided, out of his own free will, he’d rather abandon his old life than continue seeing John just once a year… well. What can he say?

Still, he can’t help thinking…

But no, better not to dwell on that.

 

* * *

 

Rather unsurprisingly, Mycroft shows up at the circus a week later. Greg’s ridiculous, treacherous heart skips a beat at the sight of the man casually sitting at what passes as an office of sorts and he promptly chides himself for his foolishness.

Mycroft’s whole  _ being  _ contrasts quite a bit against his surroundings, but he has made himself at home at the threadbare desk and Greg’s heart aches at the thought of the things that could be. He smiles ruefully to himself before making his presence known by clearing his throat.

“I’d have thought you’d catch up with us sooner,” he says, coming to stand in front of the other man.

Mycroft shrugs casually. “I had some trouble convincing Mummy of letting me deal with the matter myself. Things could have gotten quite…  _ nasty _ , otherwise.”

Greg sighs, shaking his head. “Listen Mycroft, I can’t… your brother wanted to come. I will not kick him out if he wants to stay; he’s an adult and he can make his own choices.”

Mycroft opens his mouth to answer, but just then Sherlock storms in, glaring at his brother darkly. “I’m not going back,” he sentences firmly and a second later John comes in too, immediately grabbing his partner’s hand.

Mycroft sighs dramatically. “Mummy isn’t pleased.”

“I bet. But I don’t give a damn.”

“Sherlock, you’re being ridiculous,” Mycroft argues, standing up and approaching his brother. “This life isn’t for you.”

Sherlock scoffs, puffing out his chest. “That, I should think, is my decision.”

The brothers stare at each other for a while, a duel of glares that Greg frankly doubts either can win. His eyes drop to Sherlock and John’s linked hands and he takes a deep breath, willing himself not to get overemotional. 

“You’re forgetting your place,” Mycroft hisses angrily and Greg tries not to flinch. The words feel like a slap on the face, even when not directed at him: they’re a sharp reminder of why he couldn’t pursue a relationship with Mycroft; but in light of the current circumstances, they also make him angry because if Sherlock could, why can’t Mycroft? 

“My place?” Sherlock argues, tone full of disdain. “My place is here,” he states calmly, squeezing John’s hand and pulling him closer. John smiles brightly at him and then turns to glare at Mycroft defiantly.

Mycroft sighs, running his fingers through his hair. He knows by now he’s not leaving with his brother in tow, but he probably knew that from the very beginning. “Very well,” he says finally, standing as tall as he is. “I hope you won’t come to regret it.”

Greg bites his lip, staring at the far wall intently. This might not be an easy life, not by far, but isn’t love worth every sacrifice? And he could never ask Mycroft to come with him, to abandon everything he has, to give up on his comfortable life, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want him to. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t want the other man to decide life with Greg, difficult as it might be, is a hundred times more desirable than the one he currently leads.

“Goodbye, brother,” Mycroft says, starting to walk away and Greg forces himself to stand very still, unsure of what he’ll do if he allows himself to do anything at all.

“It could be your place too,” Sherlock says, stopping his brother’s retreating steps. Mycroft’s back is very tense and Greg barely dares to breath, the implication clear enough. “It could be yours too, if only you weren’t such a coward.”

_ Please turn back,  _ Greg thinks desperately, staring intently at his beloved’s back.  _ Please stay with me. _

For a moment, it feels like time has frozen. Greg finds himself waiting for Mycroft’s answer with bated breath, his heart beating erratically inside his chest while he keeps silently praying he’ll actually stay.

And then Mycroft starts walking away once again.

Greg is hard pressed not to break down crying right there and then.

 

* * *

 

**_Perhaps it’d be better if you didn’t come back to London ever again._ **

**_Yours sincerely,_ **

**_M. Holmes._ **

Greg tosses the letter away, cursing himself for daring to hope despite it all. What was he expecting? A heartfelt confession, followed by a very reasonable explanation on why Mycroft couldn’t do as his brother and say  _ screw it all? _

He huffs, staring at the ceiling while he rubs his chest absentmindedly in an attempt to chase the pain away but it doesn’t help at all of course. 

He closes his eyes for a few seconds, willing himself to get his emotions back under control. He feels like crap, in all honesty, but there are other pressing matters that require his attention and allowing himself to dwell on his self pity is not productive at all.

He stares at Mycroft’s letter from the corner of his eye and he takes a deep breath. He knows a threat when he sees it and he bites his lip, wondering just how seriously he needs to take it. He knows Mycroft and Sherlock’s parents aren’t only rich, they’re  _ influential  _ and it’s just natural they aren’t happy about their youngest son running away with the circus so they might cause them some trouble if they come back to London as they do every year but-

The thing is that London brings the biggest crowds and therefore the most money. Their finances are actually doing rather well, but Greg finds himself unwilling to forgoe the chance to perform in London.

In the end, he decides the pros outweigh the cons and so he tells himself to forget all about Mycroft’s letter, burning it on a whim. It’s probably all kinds of crazy to find such joy in the burning of the piece of paper, but it feels somewhat like a triumph to Greg: there was a time when he’d have treasured any note that might have come from Mycroft, no matter the content, but those days are gone.

Or at least that’s what he likes to tell himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I know it doesn’t look like it, but I swear the happy ending is coming. I swear! Really! Just one more chapter (or two) to go! :P And don’t think too badly of Mycroft, he’ll get his chance to explain soon enough ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	6. Year 12 - Changing the world to be ours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The last part of this little tale ;)  
> Enjoy!

**Year 12**

Perhaps coming back to London had been a bad idea after all.

The thought crosses Greg minds briefly and then he shakes himself, annoyed at the momentary distraction. It’s too late for regrets and what ifs; what’s done is done and all that matters right in this instant is to get everyone to safety. Later he can think of all the things he could have done differently to avoid this particular outcome, but right now-

His last coherent thought before passing out due smoke inhalation is that if he does die here, at least he won’t have to deal with what comes next.

 

* * *

 

Everytime he opens his eyes, he finds a new group of people waiting next to his sickbed.

It’s comforting, in a way and very touching, but it all truth, Greg would rather be left alone. He can’t help thinking he has failed all these people and that what happened is all his fault and there’s no way he can attune for it, not matter what they seem to think.

This time, when he wakes up, John and Sherlock are the ones sitting next to the bed. The couple wears matching guilty expressions and Greg sighs, before assuring them it’s in no way their fault.

Sherlock huffs. “Look who’s talking,” he says, rolling his eyes. “As if guilt wasn’t eating  _ you  _ alive.”

“It was my responsibility-”

“Stop,” John interrupts, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. “There’s plenty of guilt to go around, of course, but we’ll gain nothing from finding someone to blame. The real question is, what do we do now?”

Greg sighs and Sherlock huffs once again. John is right, of course, but Greg has no real answer. The fire took everything from them and he has no actual savings that could help in any way. He very much doubts there’s anything they can do at this point and so…

“I guess it might be time for everyone to go their separate ways.”

John and Sherlock share a look but don’t comment. John squeezes Sherlock’s hand and the younger man sighs, leaning his head against John’s shoulder. Greg smiles at them, ignoring the way his heart aches thinking about his own lost love.

At least they both seem happy, he thinks. Penniless and without a clear path to follow now, but at least they have each other and they seem content enough with that.

As for himself… well. He’ll have to figure something out, won’t he?

 

* * *

 

“I told you coming back to London might prove unwise.”

Greg stares at the man sitting next to his bed, wondering if he’s hallucinating. The apparition sighs, before reaching hesitantly for Greg’s hand and squeezing it once, to assure him of his presence.

“When Sherlock mentioned your parents said he was dead to them, I didn’t think they meant it quite that literally.”

Mycroft’s lips curve in a sardonic smile. “Better dead than turned a circus performer,” he says, tone filled with disgust. “I didn’t think they’d go this far,” he says earnestly, reaching for Greg’s hand once more, but pulling back at the last second. “I’m sorry.”

Greg shrugs non committedly, staring at Mycroft’s hand now resting on the corner of the bed. “Not your fault.”

They stare at each other for a long while, neither saying a word, content with just staring at each other.

The future is more uncertain that ever, but right now, staring at the man he loves with every bit of his heart  _ despite everything,  _ Greg couldn’t care less about it.

Funny, how love works.

 

* * *

 

“What happens now, then?”

Greg tries not to flinch at Sally’s question, but he can’t really help it. Most of the other members of the circus have asked some variation of it, but he still has no answer to offer. Everything that didn’t burn down got lost in the pillage that followed and so they’re all out of money and material. He’s more or less confident they’ll manage to get the animals back but other than that...

“I don’t know,” he confesses softly, painfully aware of the many eyes watching him. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Well, buying a new tent might be a good place to start,” says a voice behind him and Greg’s heart skips a beat. “We’re expected somewhere else in two nights, aren’t we?”

“We?” Greg asks, turning to Mycroft, who looks terribly out of place in all his finery with the chaos of the burned circus surrounding him.

“Well,” Mycroft answers with a sheepish smile. “I just thought… if I’m going to invest my few savings on your show, I might as well be around to supervise how they’re used.”

“What?” Greg asks breathlessly, barely daring to hope-

Mycroft stares at him from under his lashes, biting on his lip gently. “I… My parents have of course disowned me too now, but I’ve been putting some money aside for a very long time and I… Well. It’s the least I can do, isn’t it?”

Greg just stares at him, unsure of what to say, vaguely embarrassed of being doing this in front of so many people. “You want to come with me?”

Mycroft huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course I want to. I’m just nowhere near as… _ impulsive _ as my brother. I needed some sort of plan before running away with the circus.”

Sherlock protests something, but Greg is no longer paying attention, having closed the distance between them and now standing in front of Mycroft. “Are you serious? You’re coming with me?”

Mycroft smiles, a small  _ nervous  _ thing that makes him look infinitely young and sweet. “Yes,” he whispers, stepping even closer to Greg. “ _ Yes.  _ To the end of the world, if necessary.”

Greg laughs, his insides bubbling with happiness and he pulls the other man into a kiss that it’s similar to the ones they’ve already shared, except this one doesn’t speak of impossible love and goodbyes.

It speaks of new and hopeful beginnings.

Of a love meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I fear the ending might feel a bit flat, but hopefully it works for you: it’s simple, yes, but hopefully sweet enough to make up for it? ;)  
> As usual, it’s been a pleasure to work on this little tale. I hadn’t planned on posting any more WIPs until I was done with the ones I had decided to finish as part of my New Year’s resolutions, but as I’ve said a hundred times before I have no self control and the song was just begging to be turned into a fic so… well. Besides, the chapters were rather short and so it was done quite quickly, so I don’t think it really counted as a proper WIP ;)  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought, pretty please?

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> Hopefully next update won’t take terribly long, but I’m trying to stick to my update schedule for my old WIPs so… I make no promises. And I should start working on my FTH’s piece very soon too so there’s that… but I’ll update before the end of the month, I promise ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?  
> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


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